Gentling a Wildcat
by bracken
Summary: Draco Malfoy faces crisis and decides to give up. Harry is sent to talk him out of suicide but Malfoy is tenacious, even under all the hurt. Who wins?


PAIRING: None really, but if you squint you can sort of see slash subtext. Sort of.  
  
WARNING: Suicide themes, talk of death, slash subtext.   
  
RATING: PG  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Yep, just let me know where it's going.  
  
DISCLAIMER: They aren't mine, I reap no money from them, and I'd prefer not to talk about it!  
  
SPOILERS: none.  
  
SUMMARY: Draco's barricaded in an old classroom, wanting to kill himself. His parents have died recently. Harry is sent in to talk him out of it. But Malfoy is pretty tenacious, even under all the hurt. The title and talk of poetry stems from "Gentling a Wildcat" by Douglas Livingstone. Go read it.  
  
FEEDBACK: Oh, please? I'll love you forever  
  
DEDICATION: If I could dedicate it to dead folk then this is for Beethoven. This fic is ALL the Moonlight Sonata's fault.   
  
Speech in "…" thoughts in //… // and emphasis in *....*  
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Gentling a Wildcat  
  
"What are *you* doing here?"   
  
//He throws in what little expression he could muster. In this hazy state, where everything and nothing collide the moments seem to go on forever. Everything's in slow motion. There is an underwater, dreamlike quality to the air around us that allows me to think for eons, to look at him for an eternity. He's slumped at a disused desk, arms folded before him defensively. The silver - blond head hangs wearily, as though the simple acts of thinking, speaking, are too taxing now. He certainly seems to think so. That's the problem, everything is too taxing, not worth the effort. //   
  
"I came to help."   
  
//Voice level, non-threatening eye contact, slow and minimal gestures. Like when you're trying to approach one of Hagrid's wild, untamable beasts. To gentle them, like I read in this Muggle poem. At first I shy away from my own mental comparison. Malfoy is no wildcat. But then again, there always was a feral hint to him, his movements. When he walked he stalked, he prowled. On the Quidditch pitch he attacked. Not now though, now he just is, and if he has his way he won't even be *that* any longer. //  
  
"In other words they sent you in as a last resort." It's not a question; it's a statement.  
  
//Making cutting remarks to the last moments, aren't we Malfoy? And I would be moved to anger, as I have been so many times in the past. Except that I know that's exactly what he wants. For me to storm out. Pronounce him unsaveable. Leave him. And that's when I realize I've cut to the core of all this. His parents are dead, the world he knew is crumbling around him. He is all that is left of it. And, even further, looking around this room he's barricaded himself in, I see he is once again alone. No friends keep vigil outside the door. The staff are as concerned as their position requires of them. Some twisted logic made them send for me. Maybe I could bond with him due to the common murderer in our pasts. //  
  
"He killed *my* parents too." I offer.   
  
//As soon as it's out my mouth I recognize the statement for the pathetic reach that it is. He snorts derisively, delicately. I realize how small he is, for all his fury and spirit. Smaller than me. It was never really that noticeable before this moment. It seems like a startling revelation now. Malfoy is smaller than I am. I could so easily . . . - but he is speaking now. //  
  
"You didn't even know your parents Potter." He points out.  
  
//There was a time when he relished saying such cutting truths. When he would have savoured the words of victory. His voice is listless now. He's operating on…there is a term for it…autopilot. He looks up. Catches my eyes with his stormy ones. //  
  
"Will you leave now?" He asks.  
  
//It is a soft query. Now I know he must be world-weary because that was verging on polite. I sigh, and, to answer his question, stop lingering by the door. I walk into the room. Sit down in the desk beside him. His face is expressionless and he doesn't even flinch at the nearness of me. He can't spare a look of loathing for his greatest rival. Where has Malfoy gone? There must be something to interest him enough to bear it all. To carry on. //  
  
"What do you want?" I ask.  
  
//He looks up in confusion. He hasn't asked for anything. Hasn't even demanded that I leave. //  
  
"Nothing."  
  
//But I can tell from that tempted look on his face that that isn't entirely true. Whether he knows it or not. //  
  
"Think hard." I say patiently.  
  
//I watch his eyes as he purposely battles *not* to think about what he wants. To think about what he'd live for. All those things seem to be gone and he can't afford any more pain over them. He is composed. //  
  
"I want…"  
  
//I can see him war with some form of nameless temptation. The look of a person who thinks they *should* die, but who wants to live for a hope, a promise of something that would uplift them to happiness. Unfortunately, Malfoy's determination of what he thinks *should* be is very strong. It must be a family thing. //  
  
"I want…you to leave the room."  
  
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Please r/r.   
A/N: Chapter four of "The Further Adventures of Draco (in Leather)" is coming soon. 


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